


You Told the Drunks I Knew Karate (that wasn't a lie so much as a creative interpretation)

by Myth979



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, F/M, Multi, No Incest, the brothers are not in any way sexually involved, there's really only Watson/Bell if you want there to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myth979/pseuds/Myth979
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Elementary snippets written for Plant_Murderer. Mostly Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson/Mycroft Holmes. No incest, I swear, just good old fashioned woman in a relationship with two different men who happen to be brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking Up is Hard to Do (thank goodness she hasn't been driven to it yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plant_Murderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plant_Murderer/gifts).



First dates were always awkward, Joan knew. There was all of that getting to know each other without giving too much away nonsense, the question of whether or not to catch a cab together, the truly frustrating sympathetic letdowns of prospective partners.

Joan wondered when she had begun sounding a bit like Sherlock in her brain even as she stared, stone-faced, at the men in front of her. Because yes, those other first date difficulties were not actually difficulties when your date knew everything about you, you lived with them, and you were almost ninety-eight percent certain you were going to spend the rest of your lives together through fair means or foul.

Those particular difficulties were replaced with your two committed life partners (who happened to be brothers) refused to agree on the benefits of breastfeeding. How was this her life.

“How did we get to this point in the conversation?” she asked.

“In case of future children,” Sherlock said. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she echoed, allowing her sarcasm to shine right on through until it blinded him.

“That, of course, is another conversation entirely,” Mycroft broke in smoothly.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said again. “Children are hardly convenient. We would have to hire a nanny, first of all, since I’m not entirely certain I trust Mycroft not to attempt to mold the beasts into images of himself. Unacceptable.”

“And I would be the only other option aside from a nanny,” Mycroft said.

“I doubt Joan would agree to boarding school, and I find myself disinclined in that direction anyway. And Joan and I would be entirely too busy solving crime to raise offspring, even offspring as advanced as ours undoubtedly would be. Yours might take a bit to catch up, but with Joan’s DNA in the mix I have no doubt they would succeed.”

“Children are a conversation to be had with all partners,” Joan said.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Sherlock said yet again. “And I suppose I could be convinced. I’ve seen the way you eye your friend’s sprogs.”

Mycroft snorted. Joan sighed. Sherlock looked at both of them expectantly.

“Ma’am,” the waiter, who had been standing there patiently if progressively more wide-eyed throughout the conversation, began, “I have a wine list for you.”

“You are a wonderful human being,” Joan told her, and snagged it.


	2. What Happens In Vegas Stays in Vegas (but this is a Boston Thing and it's legally binding)

“Sherlock,” Joan said, after shuffling through the mail, “why do I have a very official looking letter congratulating me on my new tax benefits?”

“I’d imagine it’s for the same reason I have a very similar letter,” Sherlock replied. He didn’t look up from the lock he was fiddling with.

“I wouldn’t know if you do,” Joan said with the weary acceptance of someone faced with something that would have annoyed them five years ago, “because I do not open other people’s mail. Unlike certain other people in this house.”

“You really ought to get over that little hang up. You don’t have a problem with breaking and entering, after all.”

“Shh,” she said. “My mother still thinks I’m a good little sidetracked former surgeon turned police consultant.”

Sherlock did look up at that. “Good god, your mother hasn’t snuck into the house in the last hour, has she? I admit I was absorbed in my studies, but surely I would have noticed that.”

“Sherlock. Tax benefits.”

“We’ve lived together for seven years, Watson. I believe we have all unwittingly entered into what is colloquially termed a ‘Boston marriage.’”

“Boston marriage was slang for longterm lesbian couples, so unless you’ve been holding back a choice tidbit of information for seven years and would like to tell me your preferred pronouns now…”

“I have held back nothing from you, Watson, and I am insulted that you would think to joke about it.”

“Nothing. Really.”

“Nothing lately.”

“So, Mr. Nothing Lately, your genius intellect and masterful observational skills failed to note the date and laws pertaining to common law marriage in the state and country in which we reside and led you all unwittingly to the end of bachelordom?”

He favored her with his best innocent face. In Joan’s professional opinion, it needed work. It was something around the corners of his mouth. “I believe we are partners, Ms Watson. Does that not make us equally responsible for these sorts of things?”

“One of us has an encyclopedic memory of New York law and one of us has to refer to her sticky-noted reference book,” she retorted. “Fess up.”

“Think of how much easier it will be when the inevitable complications of investigating hardened criminals ensue!” he protested.

Joan ‘hmm’ed and looked at the letter again. “And there are some nice tax breaks involved.”

“I promise not to tell Detective Bell that we are legally married,” Sherlock said. “I think that would put the poor man off.”

Joan glared at him with all the righteous fury she could muster, which, admittedly, wasn’t much. “You are not the man I met seven years ago.”

“You love it.”


End file.
